


space rocks

by alestar



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-21
Updated: 2009-06-21
Packaged: 2017-10-08 07:10:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/74017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alestar/pseuds/alestar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short.  I forgot where I was going with this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	space rocks

There are no known instances of humans being killed by space rocks.  
~ space.com, [Boy Hit by Meteorite](http://news.yahoo.com/s/space/20090612/sc_space/boyhitbymeteorite)

 

Three weeks into his captaincy, James T. Kirk has a mega space party to celebrate manning the hottest spaceship in Star Fleet. It's a carefully planned morale event, but it starts like this:

"Dammit, Jim," says Bones, "We can't throw a party. You're the captain now."

"That's why _we're_ not throwing a party," says Jim. He sits sideways on an infirmary bed, face split in a grin while Bones moves around the empty sickbay, transferring arcane vials, discs and datapads from one compartment to another, settling in the same way that he did with his room at the Academy during his first days-- rearranging furniture, unpacking, spreading out. "You are."

Bones' eyes dart away from a pile of hyposprays to Jim's face, exasperated, not quite irritated.

Jim waves his hand dismissively.

"Look, don't worry. It's not against regulations to _gather_, and it's not against regulations to play music or drink while off-duty." Bones picks up a tub of supplies and carries it into his office, and Jim hops off of the bed to follow him. "Besides, as you mentioned, I am the captain of this vessel. You came to me to ask if you could throw a mega space party, and I-- as any good captain would-- said fuck yeah you can have a mega space party."

"Why do you even want to have a party," asks Bones. He shoves impatiently at a row of machines on one of the shelves lining the walls and sets down his tub. "You won't be able to drink yourself into a horny stupor and sleep with superior officers. There _are_ no superior officers."

"I feel the same way about you, Doctor."

Bones shakes his head. "You won't have anything to do."

Jim sits down at Bones' desk; it's already littered with personal items: the framed holo-reel of his large, laughing family on a porch in Mississippi, a bottle of whiskey and three small glasses.

Jim leans back in the chair and folds his hands behind his head. "Look, I just-- I need to mingle, I need to meet some of _my crew_, and it's not like I can just load them all into the shuttle bay for a speech. That's not my thing."

Bones finishes arranging items on the counter and moves to the compartments of the desk. He stacks the datapads neatly in one compartment, stores the whiskey in another and covers it with a spare change of clothes. "Yes, but you are no longer allowed to do your thing. Don't break my chair."

"Exactly, Bones," says Jim. "I need a new thing. Help me throw a new thing."

Bones stands up and looks down at Jim with a grimace. He says, "If I say yes, will you stop taking up space in my sickbay?"

"Absolutely, for today."

"Fine," Bones says. "Whatever, Stardate 0125, just get out."

Jim smiles brightly. As he stands, Bones mutters, "_I_ need a new thing."

 

*

 

The mega space party lasts for 35 hours, long enough for everyone to work their shift, then party, then rest, even the non-human crewmembers whose sleep cycles are fewer but longer. Captain Kirk rejoins the bridge crew after the first four hours.

"There is some serious morale happening in the shuttle bay, folks," he says, dropping into the captain's chair.

Chekhov glances with nervous excitement over his shoulder.

A few moments pass before Jim feels Spock standing near him; he looks up from the status report on the arm consol, which he's reading, even though the ship is on a routine mission in friendly space to refuel, two days' travel from anything. "Yes, Mr. Spock?"

"I assume, Captain," says Spock. He looks down with inclining his head. "That you have not consumed any food or beverage that would impair your judgment or ability to react quickly to stimulus."

"That would be a ridiculous assumption, Mr. Spock," says Jim. Spock opens his mouth to reply, and Jim adds, "But a correct one."

Spock nods, but his nostrils flare minutely, and Jim wonders if he's _smelling_ him, trying to fish out a lie in the scent of alcohol. The thought makes Jim raise an eyebrow and look back down at the arm consol. Spock takes that as a dismissal and returns to his station while Jim fails to read the status report.

 

*

 

Lieutenant Sulu takes his place at the helm at 2100 hours, and he has probably been at the party, but the captain trusts him, and he certainly isn't going to smell him. Jim says, "Mr. Sulu, the bridge is yours. Mr. Spock, you're with me."

Spock looks over his shoulder. "Captain?"

"We're going to the party."

Spock's eyebrows gather. "Sir, I have forty minutes remaining of my shift on the bridge."

Jim shakes his head. "Wouldn't want you to have to spend your off-time in official capacity, and as I believe I explained, Mr. Spock-- as the purpose of the event is to solidify communal feeling among members of the crew, it's important that senior officers make an appearance."

To his left, Uhura scoffs.

Jim adds, "Dress uniforms are optional."

"You had not previously explained that, Captain," says Spock impassively, but he rises and waits for Jim to walk past before following him into the turbolift.

After the doors close, Jim says, "Do you dance?"

Spock says, "I do not believe this is a gathering at which my presence is necessary."

Despite himself, Jim grins. Spock stands at parade rest, eyes forward as the lift shuttles them to Deck 4. "Well, your judgment of interpersonal protocol is impaired by not knowing how to have a good time."

"Nevertheless, captain," Spock says, _captain_ barely inflected. "The remainder of my shift would be better served surveying--"

"There's nothing around, Spock; we won't hit inhabited space for days. Are you surveying the lint on your console?"

"--than satisfying your juvenile appetites for incongruity."

Jim coughs a laugh, surprised. "My..." He grins and leans against the wall of the turbolift. "My juvenile appetites are not for incongruity."

At that, Spock does look at him; a hard, disapproving look.

"Relax, Spock," Jim says, at last. He is captain, and he does understand what that means-- whatever Spock may think, and whatever squashed regret Spock may be experiencing over having signed on as his first officer. "I didn't imbibe any substance today that would impair my ability to captain the ship, and I didn't make, like, genuine sexual advances. I just needed to meet some of my crew, and I didn't want to make them miserable. Like with interviews." Jim pieced together his crew from recommendations from Admiral Pike and Admiral Barnett without actually assessing anyone. He waves his hand. "Or whatever."

The turbolift doors open.

The two men exit, but Spock pauses outside the doors.

"I have met all subordinate officers and regularly review their reports," he says. "I frequently provide feedback."

Jim juts his head toward the shuttle bay and resumes walking, and Spock falls into step beside him. "Come meet some science people," says Jim. "Then we can do something you want to do."

"There is nothing I would like for _us_ to do," says Spock, but it sounds like such a familiar rebuff that Jim replies easily, "I'll just watch, then." Jim purses his lips, surprised, and Spock glances at him sideways.


End file.
